In bad company

II

It was Christmas Eve. Makar remembered that the following day was a great holiday. And he was overcome by an intense craving for vodka, but he had no money to buy it with. The corn was nearly all gone, and he was already in debt with the local shopkeepers and the Tatars. All the same tomorrow was the great holiday ... on which he should not work—so what could he do if he did not get drunk? He felt wretched. What a life! There was the greatest feast-day in the whole winter—and he not able to drink a bottle of vodka!
A happy thought struck him. He rose and began to pull on his ragged furcoat. His wife, who was a tall, wiry, remarkably strong and equally ugly woman, wise to all his tricks, guessed his intention at once.
"Where are you off to, you devil? Going to drink vodka by yourself?"
"Hold your tongue! I'm off to buy a bottle and we'll drink it tomorrow." He gave her a slap on the shoulder which nearly threw her off her balance, and winked slyly. Such is the heart of woman: she knew Makar would cheat her, and yet was taken in by her spouse's caress.
He went outdoors, found his old horse in the clearing, led it by its mane to the sleigh and got it into harness. Soon the horse took its master out of the gate, stopped, turned its head and cast a questioning look at Makar who was lost in thought. Whereupon Makar gave the left rein a tug, directing the horse towards the outskirts of the village.
A small yurta stood at the very end of the village. A pillar of smoke, rising from it as from the other chimneys, hid the cold glittering stars and the bright moon behind a white billowing mantle. The firelight from within shone through the blocks of ice which served as windows. It was very quiet outdoors.
In this yurta dwelt strangers from afar. Makar did not know what ill luck had brought them to this distant wilderness, nor did he care in the least. He liked to do a little job for them now and then because they were not exacting and did not haggle about the pay.
Makar entered the yurta, walked straight up to the hearth, and stretched his hands which were numb with frost close to it.
"Tcha!" he ejaculated to inform them that he was cold.
The strangers were at home. A candle burned on the table, wastefully it seemed, for the strangers were not engaged in any work. One of them was lying on his bed, smoking and pensively eyeing the rings of blue smoke as they curled into the air, perhaps following some train of thought. The other was seated by the fireplace, in thought, too, watching the flames lick the burning logs.
"Hallo!" said Makar, eager to break the uncomfortable silence.
Needless to say, he knew nothing of the sorrows that weighed heavily on the hearts of the strangers, nothing of the memories that haunted them on that very night, of the pictures brought into their mind by the flick of firelight and the smoke. Makar had his own big worry.
The young man sitting by the fire raised his head, and stared at Makar rather blankly as though he had not recognised him. Then he shook his head as though to clear it, and rose quickly from his chair.
"Oh, it's you, Makar! Hallo! It's good to see you. Will you have a glass of tea with us?"
The offer pleased Makar.
"Tea?" he repeated inquiringly. "That's very good!... Real good! Capital!"
He began briskly to take off his things. When he had laid aside his cap and coat, he felt far more at home, and the sight of the samovar with the glowing coals made him turn to the young man with a burst of warm feeling:
"I'm fond of you! It is the truth! So fond of you, so very much! I can't sleep at night for thought of you!"
The stranger turned around with a wry smile on his face.
"You're fond of us, you say?" he said. "Then what is it you want?"
Makar hesitated.
"I do have something in mind," he replied. "But how could you guess? Well, I'll tell you about it after I've had my tea."
Seeing that his hosts had offered him the tea of their own accord, Makar thought he might press things further.
"Any roast meat? I love it," he said.
"No."
"Never mind," said Makar reassuringly. "I'll take it some other time," and added, "some other time, eh?"
"All right."
Makar now took it for granted that the strangers owed him the roast meat; and he never forgot debts of this kind.
An hour later he was sitting in his sleigh, having earned a whole ruble by selling five prospective cartloads of firewood on quite satisfactory terms. True, he had promised solemnly not to spend the money on drink on that same day, knowing that he would do just that. The pleasure he anticipated stilled any pricks of conscience he might have, and he did not even give a thought to the beating he would be sure to get from his faithful wife when he returned home drunk, having deceived her.
"Where's that you're going, Makar?" one of the strangers called out laughingly when he saw that Makar's horse instead of going straight on turned to the left, to the Tatars, establishment.
"Whoa! Did you ever see such a wretched horse? Where are you going?" Makar shouted, blaming the horse, tugging hard at the left rein, and giving the animal furtive little slaps with the right.
The clever beast whisked its tail reproachfully, and trotted quietly in the needed direction. And then the squeak of the runners abruptly ceased at the door of the Tatar pub.